Lady Marjorie turned to Alice, smiled brightly, and said, “What has MacDear planned for our midday dinner?”
A sharp evening wind came up just when the sun was beginning to set. Hastings had ridden Marella hard for the past three hours. She’d seen two farmers, one of them sitting in an old cart pulled by a swaybacked mare who snorted with every step she took, the other walking bent over, a thicket of cut hay strapped to his back.
Neither of them paid her any attention. The one farmer did look at
* Marella, a combination of wistfulness and greed in his eyes. She didn’t blame him.
Her bow and six arrows were snug against her side. She had practiced a good dozen times to get her bow notched quickly were outlaws to attaTkTîer. She was fast now.
She slowed Marella. She had come to the top of a small rise. Nestled in the valley below was a village filled with small thatch-roofed cottages. She would simply have to go around it.
Marella, sensing that a warm stable was near, was none too happy to be steered away from the village. She reared on her hind feet, but Hastings, well used to her palfrey’s ways, wasn’t moved. “All right, we’ll stop soon. It grows late. We’re both hungry. Aye, I’ll find you a nice stream and thick grass. Trust me, Marella, you do not wish Lord Severin to catch up with us.”
The cold wind eased off a bit. Then it just became a mild breeze. This was not the England she knew. Perhaps this was a sign that good luck
9 A /I.
would follow her. Perhaps she would find this Rosehaven before any outlaws found her.
But what about Severin?
She shuddered, remembering clearly what it felt like to shove her feet into his groin. She’d felt his shock in that instant, his disbelief, the quivering of coming pain.
He had deserved it. He would have hurt her and probably her babe as well.
She found a perfect place to tether Marella some thirty minutes later. After seeing to her horse, she spread the blanket on the grassy slope that rolled gently to the stream and went through her belongings. Not much.
Three loaves of bread.
The bread was delicious. She forced herself to eat only one loaf, then slid down the slope to drink the cold water.
Night was falling fast.
She left Marella saddled, just in case, apologizing to her all the while. She gathered her bow and arrows close, closed her hand over the knife handle, and pulled the blanket around her.
” Wot’s a mere lad doing with a mare like that? Think ye the little blighter thieved her?”
Hastings was awake in an instant, frozen still at the sound of the man’s voice. He was whispering, but the night was very still. She heard every word. She could practically see another man shrugging. How many were there?
“Ease yer knife in his ribs and let’s take the mare.”
“Ye saw, he’s a pretty boy. We can sell him.”
“Lookee, we watched him, believing his kin were close, but there’s no one here but the boy. Let him be. He’d be too much trouble. I jest want the mare.”
There were just two of them.
9. A. Fi
Not that it would matter. Her luck had run out.
They were too close for her to use her bow and arrows.
Slowly, holding her breath, Hastings closed her hand around the knife handle. It wasn’t well balanced, a perfect weapon for killing, like Severin’s was. No, it belonged to Master Thomas the baker. She just prayed it would slice a man as well as it did bread.
She felt the ground moving as one of the men walked to her. Just one, thank God. She waited, ready.
She opened her eyes, saw him over her, staring down at her, the knife raised.
“So ye’re awake, are ye?”
“Aye, you filth.” She brought the knife up, felt it slide so easily into his belly, felt the vomit rise in her throat, and quickly jerked the knife out of him. He was still over her, staring down at her, so surprised that he opened his mouth but only blood came out, not words.